Black Hills Read Free Page B

the lines of barbed wire without mishap. He didn’t complain when she turned and held the lines wider for him.
    “We watch on TV, or listen on the radio. And once we went all the way down to Omaha to watch a game. But I’ve never been to a major-league ballpark.”
    And that reminded him just where he was. “You’re a million miles from one. From anything.”
    “Dad says one day we’ll take a vacation and go back east. Maybe to Fenway Park because he’s a Red Sox fan.” She found a ball, stuck it in her back pocket. “He likes to root for the underdog.”
    “My father says it’s smarter to root for a winner.”
    “Everybody else does, mostly, so somebody has to root for the underdog.” She beamed a smile at him, fluttered long lashes over dark brown eyes. “That’s going to be New York this year.”
    He grinned before he realized it. “So you say.”
    He picked up a ball, tossed it hand to hand as they worked their way toward the trees. “What do you do with all these cows, anyway?”
    “Beef cattle. We raise them, then sell them. People eat them. I bet even people in New York like steak.”
    He thought that was gross, just the idea that the cow staring at him now would be on somebody’s plate—maybe even his—one day.
    “Do you have any pets?” she asked him.
    “No.”
    She couldn’t imagine not having animals around, everywhere, all the time. And the idea of not having any brought a lump of genuine sympathy to her throat.
    “I guess it’s harder in the city. Our dogs . . .” She paused to look around, then spotted them. “They’ve been out running, see, and now they’re back at the table, hoping for scraps. They’re good dogs. You can come over and play with them sometimes if you want, and use the batting cage.”
    “Maybe.” He sneaked another glance at her. “Thanks.”
    “Not many of the girls I know like baseball all that much. Or hiking and fishing. I do. Dad’s teaching me to track. My grandfather, my mom’s father, taught him. He’s really good.”
    “Track?”
    “Animals and people. For fun. There’s lots of trails, and lots to do.”
    “If you say so.”
    She cocked her head at the dismissive tone. “Have you ever been camping?”
    “Why would I want to?”
    She only smiled. “It’s going to be dark pretty soon. We’d better get the last ball and head back. If you come over again, maybe Dad will play or we can go riding. You like to ride?”
    “You mean horses? I don’t know how. It looks stupid.”
    She fired up at that, the way she’d fired up to hit the ball high and long. “It’s not stupid, and it’s stupid to say it is just because you don’t know how. Besides, it’s fun. When we—”
    She stopped dead in her tracks. As she sucked in her breath, she grabbed Coop’s arm. “Don’t move.”
    “What?” Because the hand on his arm shook, his heart slammed into his throat. “Is it a snake?”
    Panicked, he scanned the grass.
    “Cougar.” She barely breathed the word. She stood like a statue with that one trembling hand on his arm, and stared into the tangled brush.
    “What? Where?” Suspicious, sure she was just screwing around and trying to scare him, he tried to pry her hand away. At first he saw nothing but that brush, the trees, the rise of rock and hill.
    Then he saw the shadow. “Holy shit. Holy freaking shit!”
    “Don’t run.” She stared as if mesmerized. “If you run, he’ll chase you, and he’s faster. No!” She yanked on his arm as Coop edged up, getting a firmer grip on the ball. “Don’t throw anything, not yet. Mom says . . .” She couldn’t remember everything her mother had told her. She’d never seen a cat before, not in real life, not near the farm. “You have to make noise, and, and make yourself look big.”
    Quivering, Lil rose to her toes, lifted her arms over her head, and began to shout. “Get away! Get away from here.
    “Yell!” she shouted to Cooper. “Look big and mean!”
    Her eyes, keen and dark,